


One Pinch Parenting, Stir to Offseason

by AParticularlyLargeBear



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParticularlyLargeBear/pseuds/AParticularlyLargeBear
Summary: This incarnation of Moody Cookbook might have been pasted into a book that had no business ever being opened, but one thing they know is how to take care of their kids.
Relationships: Moody Cookbook & Dunlap Figueroa
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	One Pinch Parenting, Stir to Offseason

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the RPing scene and Moody's player especially for being such a joy to experience blaseball alongside!

"Tome father?"

Moody Cookbook does not daydream, but a knocking without is enough of a surprise to draw a momentary reaction from them. Still, the fizzling blue energies dissipate as swiftly as they arrive; only one person would possibly refer to them by such a name, and they could not be less of a threat.

"Dunlap. Come on in."

The door to their abode opens, and Dunlap enters. Moody may not be a body language expert, but they are a their-children expert, and the agitation is pouring off Dunlap in waves, their throat feathers fluffed out, their talons circling and clacking against one another. Moody meets them in the porch and Dunlap hugs them. A novel sensation even after some time embodied. Touch was never part of the old playbook, but Dunlap, Moody has learned, is a tactile person, and it is something that Moody is glad to provide.

Anything for their family.

Eventually Dunlap breaks away. “You have their thanks.”

“Of course. Do you need to sit down?”

Dunlap nods. Moody leads them through to their lounge. It’s a spartan space, furnished more to host than to reside. Moody does not need much space for themself.

Their singular sofa sustains the full weight of Dunlap’s burdens, and also Dunlap. The latter is far lighter than the former. They remain slumped in place for a few seconds, and Moody is forced to hover there, caught between brewing a hot mug of something warm and nourishing, and being physically present for their child. A vexing disadvantage to this form, versus their other. Telekinetic cookery lands differently.

Dunlap still has not looked up. Hm.

“Everything okay, kid?”

It’s not, but it’s important to ask.

“No.” 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

And just as important to put the ball in Dunlap’s court.

Their next reply comes much later than the first.

“Yes.”

Moody wedges themself into an—the—armchair. Disused, it rises to the occasion and creaks magnificently. At another time, Dunlap would have been delighted by the ambiance. Moody settles down and waits.

“They have been named a captain for the Coffee Cup.” They proclaim it like one might announce a debilitating splorting injury. Moody knows better than to indulge in their instinctive urge to celebrate the accomplishment.

“You do not want to be a captain.”

“They do not want to  _ play. _ ” They hitch. Guilt flashes across their expression. “Ah, tome father, apologies, they know that you cannot—”

Moody waves the concern away. No, they cannot, but any frustration is secondary to their child’s distress. “Don’t worry kid. I know that’s not what you meant.”

“The Tigers’ recent defeat in the finals. They have only begun to work through that the loss was not their fault alone, and that the team’s successes and failures do not fall solely on their shoulders and now—now they have been placed! In! Charge!” Dunlap doesn’t raise their voice, but their adept enunciation carries every ounce of force anyway. They’re an actrex, after all.

Moody pauses to consider. ‘You’ll do great’ is not what Dunlap wants or needs to hear, regardless of whether Moody believes it. “What do you think will happen?”

That stops Dunlap. They look away. “They fear they’ll lapse into those patterns again. That they’ll feel their performances bear the team upon their back.”

“Then carry the burden differently.”

“Tome father, they do not know how—!” Dunlap snaps back around in time to be stopped in their tracks by a shake of the—well Moody doesn’t have a head, but a general purpose negative shake of the everything.

“Move the obligation, Dunlap. You care a lot about all that you do. I don’t think you have it in you not to care.”

Dunlap’s razor-tipped smile holds no humour. A predator whose only prey is themself. “Yes, ‘tis their flaw as a player.”

“It’s your strength, too, Dunlap, but you don’t have that to give. So give something else. If you can’t be their pitching ace, then be their captain.”

“Their… captain.”

“There must be ten or more different teams represented on this Club de Calf of yours. They need a coach, they certainly need somebody to bring them together as a unit.”

Dunlap looks off into the distance. Their feathers puff out, and then settle. A soft trill rolls around the back of their throat. “...perhaps.”

“Perhaps? Don’t tell me that you of all people can’t think of any way to break the ice?”

Dunlap laughs. It’s a lot of teeth. “They have a couple of ideas.”

“Good.” Moody leans forward, the whole armchair coming with them for the first foot before they peel out of it. They pat Dunlap on the shoulder. Still unfamiliar, but the reassurance feels correct. “I know you can pull it off, kid.”

“...We shall see. Thank you.” They smile again, weak, but genuine. It’s a start.

“We’ll see.” Moody confirms, affirms. “Hey. I’ve been meaning to share a new soup recipe I’ve been working on. Want to trial run it together? I bet your teammates would enjoy a pot.”

“Yes… yes, all right.”

Moody lets them head off in front, glowing faintly with pride. Good kid.  _ Their  _ kid. Dunlap will find their way through this. 

Moody will make sure of it.


End file.
